


How they sleep

by twistedrunes



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drug Use, Fluff, M/M, Self-Medication, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 09:18:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17598521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedrunes/pseuds/twistedrunes
Summary: This is a cross between a headcanon and a drabble based on how Tommy and Alfie sleep, from before the meet, the early stages of their relationship and when they have been together for a while.





	How they sleep

Most nights, Alfie sleeps surprisingly heavily considering his occupation. But just to be sure there’s a gun under the pillow, one on the nightstand, one in the dresser and a shotgun behind the door. His bed, as large as it is, is never shared. Well except with Cyril. He prefers it that way, no complications.

There are nights, of course, when he doesn’t sleep well; the occasional nightmare about the war or his mum. Some nights when his hip is playing up he’s up and down a bit, trying to stretch or walk it out. Tends to go for walks on those nights, sometimes down dark alley’s to find sleepless, godless men like himself. There are also nights when the effects of the gas come back to haunt him, stealing his breath and keeping it from him. It’s impossible to lie down, so he’s forced to sit in a chair, wheezing and gasping for breath. He doesn’t get much sleep those nights, refusing to allow death to take him with his eyes closed.

Tommy doesn’t sleep, never for the whole night, catnapping would be a more appropriate description. He hates bed, there’s too much time to think, to listen to the shovels. He knows it bothers Pol and Arthur, so he uses opium, it takes the edge off just enough he can stand to stay in bed. But he’ll still avoid bed as much as possible. The thing is, sleep is a basic human requirement; food, water, protection against the elements and sleep. Sometimes he’ll fall asleep at his desk, the kitchen table, or on the lounge, in the snug at the Garrison once just out of pure exhaustion.

Sometimes even the opium doesn’t help, he’ll lie there for hours, waiting, listening. Finally, as the edges of the sky start to go grey he’ll get up and go down to Charlie’s yard. Slip into the stables and talk to the horses, they’re always up by the time he gets there. He’ll distribute hay for their breakfast and then find one to brush or talk to. More than once Charlie has found Tommy, sitting on a bale of hay or in the corner of a stall, horse nuzzling him gently as he sleeps.

\------------------

Early on in their relationship, there’s not a lot of sleeping, because, let’s be honest, at first it’s just fucking. There’s not even a bed involved for a least the first dozen times, it’s all just fast and frantic. Alfie’s desk the first time, amongst the flour sacks, an alley, a car, even a park on one particularly memorable occasion.  So nothing really changes regarding sleeping early on. Well except that both tend to lie in bed on those nights, thinking, remembering and wondering.

The time they do it in Tommy’s car, Alfie leaves his scarf behind. Tommy doesn’t notice it until he gets back to Small Heath, lying on the back seat like a beacon, nothing that nice, expensive or clean has ever been in Small Heath. He shoves it in his pocket. That night after hours of paperwork and enough whiskey to drown a horse he finds it when he’s looking for the opium tar before bed. Tommy’s breath catches as he strokes the exquisite fabric. His hand and the fabric rise slowly to his face, he breathes deeply holding the scarf under his nose, before rubbing it against his cheek. He sits down on the bed heavily, all thoughts of opium forgotten, eyes closing as he inhales the warm sweet scent of rum and bread and something else he can’t name. Well he can, the name is Alfie Solomons. The next morning he wakes with a start, the sun streaming through the window, scarf clutched in his hand, pressed against his cheek. He inhales deeply and lets it out slowly.  

It’s Alfie who suggests they try a bed, or at least a room with a bed in it. Or just somewhere where they aren’t going to have people (Arthur and Polly in particular) bursting in at any minute. He’d like to take his time a bit more, actually see Tommy in the flesh as it were, rather than snatched glimpses as just enough clothing was removed to get the deed done. So they do, and they do, eventually, end up on the bed. But Alfie doesn’t even have a chance to turn down the covers and actually get in bed, before Tommy’s sliding over the expensive bedspread and gathering up his clothes. He disappears into the bathroom and in five minutes, immaculately groomed, he’s out the door.

The next time it’s totally unplanned, well at least by Alfie. He visits Tommy at his estate and when he goes to leave he finds his car without petrol and with a puncture in the tire. Tommy kindly offers to put him up for the night. And while Alfie’s fucking Tommy over the arm of his very expensive lounge, he wonders if this is the night he will get to  _sleep_  with Tommy Shelby. But, that hope is dashed when after recovering himself Tommy pulls back on his pants and undershirt, smoking and drinking his whiskey as he waits for Alfie to do the same, then once Alfie is decent he calls one of his staff to show Alfie to his room.

Alfie can’t get to sleep, it’s too quiet, the house too large and his cock too hard. It doesn’t take long for him to find Tommy’s room, warm light glowing softly under the door. He doesn’t bother to knock, so Tommy, sitting on the edge of the bed, cigarette in one hand and scarf in the other, is slightly startled when Alfie just, appears in his bedroom and he drops the scarf onto the dark timber of the floor.

“Ah, I’ve been wondering where that got to,” Alfie says calmly, crossing the floor to pick it up.

“What are you doing in here?” Tommy demands.

“Seems I’m reclaiming my lost property, yeah?” Alfie replies.

Tommy sighs a little and his shoulders droop for just a moment before he retorts “I just found it in my coat pocket.” The air of disinterest not quite pulled off.  

“Hmm,” Alfie ponders scratching through his beard before hanging the scarf around the back of Tommy’s neck and using it to bring Tommy to his feet. “Probably for the best, seems like it might be just the way to keep you in bed.”

And it works, Alfie fucks Tommy until Tommy is near delirious, and no longer struggling against the scarf keeping him attached to the bed frame. When Alfie finally releases him, he melts into the mattress as Alfie rubs the stiffness out of his arms and shoulders. He wakes a little later, finding himself with a heavy arm slung over his waist. He panics for a moment, the room is completely dark, Alfie must have turned off the bedside light. He scoots away from Alfie quickly and flicks the switch, instantly calming as he looks around the room, the familiar objects reminding him of where he is. Then he rolls on his side, he knows he won’t get back to sleep, but the images and noises don’t come. His eyes explore the features of Alfie’s face, the scars and wrinkles, the tattoo’s on his shoulders chest and arms, rather than dark nothingness. Rather than shovels, he listens to the steady rhythm of Alfie’s breathing.

\-----------------

And so it goes, until they not only share a bed but a house and a life too. They find ways to work around the bad nights.

Alfie leaves the bedroom windows open, as often as possible, always has fresh flowers in the room and hums songs softly, so Tommy is surrounded by fresh, sweet air and can hear something real, something human. For a long time, they sleep with the bedside lamp on. The shovels still come some nights and when they do Tommy doesn’t like Alfie draped over the back of him. He prefers to lie facing him, Alfie’s hand resting reassuringly on his hip as Tommy’s fingers stroke Alfie’s skin, face and beard, so different to the cold, wet, mud of the tunnels.

When Alfie’s chest is troubling him Tommy will drag Alfie’s chair over next to the bed, holding and stroking Alfie’s hand and reminding him to breathe. If it comes on suddenly during the night Tommy will drag Alfie up to sitting, positioning himself between Alfie and the headboard and holding him up, wrapping himself around Alfie. Steam seems to help too, so some nights he’ll run a bath and put Alfie in it. Climbing in behind him so Alfie can relax against him, hopefully drifting off to sleep without the risk of drowning.  

But those nights are rare mostly they both enjoy the quiet time in bed in the evening, being close, sharing warmth and comfort wrapped in each other’s arms. Both of them sleep better now. In bed earlier and staying longer in the morning.

Until the children arrive.

**Author's Note:**

> I welcome feedback, reviews and constructive criticism of my work (including spelling and grammatical errors). If you would prefer to speak to me in private feel free to contact me via my Tumblr @twistedrunes.   
> I also wholeheartedly support further transformations of my work, recordings of podfics and/or translations - please refer to the permissions in my profile for more detail.


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